


Todestrieb

by Creator_Chaos



Category: Kamen Rider OOO
Genre: M/M, Post-Revival, Post-Series, suicidality & mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 23:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12617696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creator_Chaos/pseuds/Creator_Chaos
Summary: There was a lot about Eiji that Ankh would never understand, but most of all, he couldn't understand why Eiji wanted to die.





	Todestrieb

There was a lot about Eiji that Ankh would never understand. Ankh had thought that he was a pile of lifeless Medals, but Eiji had spent years finding a way to let him live. Ankh’s first instincts were to get whatever he could from others, and he was still learning how to stop and consider what they needed in return; meanwhile Eiji was accustomed to flaying his own heart to help others but still had to have help shoved down his throat. Most importantly, Ankh wanted to live, wanted to drink every experience dry, wanted to taste and see and hear everything the world had to offer with the same burning intensity that was his very core. 

So he couldn't understand at all why Eiji wanted to die. 

Not always, of course. Nowadays, Eiji was often full of joy and life and even desire. But Ankh could see when it was approaching. There were the blank stares that started punctuating everyday activities, especially conversations he should have been involved in, that he was dragged back to slowly and with an equally blank smile. Ankh knew it was bad when he woke in the night to see Eiji sitting upright in bed, that blank stare reaching out into the darkness for eternity. 

And the flashbacks, of course, sometimes in the form of dreams Eiji woke from in cold sweats and tears, sometimes in the form of sudden dropped glasses and a fist in his mouth to keep from screaming. He'd once told Ankh that each time, he saw the faces of everyone he'd failed to save. The flashbacks were imperfect indicators, as they would come and go without the death wish, but the wish never came without them.  

Ankh would try to subvert the process. He'd ask if Eiji had been taking his medicine. The answer was always yes: Eiji was the poster child for compliance, at least for the things that didn't require him to rely on others for. It wasn't fair that his mind was so far out of his control despite all his efforts. But he was never angry about being questioned either, was always ready with assurances and willing to show prescription dates and remaining pills, and made sure Ankh saw him take them over the next few days. 

He'd find ways to gather Eiji’s friends together, suggesting Chiyoko host a special night at Cous Coussier, hinting to Hina to invite them for a dinner in, getting Date talking about his favorite oden place until he’d suggest they all go. They never pointed out Ankh’s actions; they all understood. They could see it too, would gently ask Eiji how he was feeling and if they could do anything for him. He would always reply with a perfect smile and a comforting lie. What could he possibly want? 

Ankh had confronted him over this in the past, but it only brought the breakdown faster. This was one of his last lines of defense against it, after all, and once that was gone he was at its mercy. It wasn't quite a lie, anyway, really. What could he want them to do? They couldn't give him a will to live. 

The only sure-fire way to circumvent the inevitable was to find some trouble. Nothing made Eiji feel like he should be alive like saving someone. If nothing presented itself, Ankh went looking. Sometimes he even helped it along. Eiji caught him doing so once, and it led to a shouting match and Ankh sleeping on the couch for a week. Eiji had even told him to leave, but Ankh refused, because he couldn't be sure it had worked anyway; but he never heard any tears coming from their bedroom, so it was still a win. 

But they couldn't always avoid it. Eventually, there would always be times when Ankh would wake to an empty bed, or walk into an apartment with all the lights off after dark, and find Eiji collapsed, curled into himself on some hard section of floor, and Ankh would sink down beside him and brace himself for the begging. 

They had an agreement, formed early. Eiji had brought Ankh back to life without his permission, after he'd even said he was content. It didn't matter that Ankh loved life, that he would claw his way back to it using any handhold he could, that seeing Eiji’s face in startling clarity through his own eyes for the first time had made him cry tears of joy that he'd made Eiji swear to never speak of; Eiji still hadn't asked his permission. So now he had to. 

It was probably better that he couldn't understand this drive, because a part of him feared that if he could, Eiji might be able to convince him, with the vehemence with which he begged. 

“Please. Ankh, please, let me die.”

And as much as his answer to the question that was never asked would always be an unequivocal yes, his answer to this was just as constant.

“Not today, Eiji. You don't get to die now.”

“When?”

“Never, as far as I'm concerned.”

Ankh worked his arms around Eiji’s shuddering shoulders, Eiji’s hands clawing at Ankh’s chest weakly but desperately. “It hurts so much.”

“You have to endure it.”

“I'm so useless.”

“I have plenty of uses for you.”

“Why won't you let me die?!”

“Because you're mine. You're mine, Eiji, and I'm keeping you.”

It lasted hours, at least. Sometimes they'd each doze off before continuing the script. Eventually Eiji would quiet enough that Ankh could lead him to bed and he could envelop him better, overlaying every inch of skin available to them, creating a nest out of his body, becoming a physical anchor to life to keep Eiji from floating away. He wondered sometimes if Eiji had revived him because it was the only way Eiji could maintain a hold on life, but he knew Eiji wasn't capable of thinking in such self-centered ways. 

Ankh knew they were on the other side of it when the sobbed apologies started, and he quieted them with sharp words and soft kisses. (“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I do this to you.” “Shut up, idiot.”) Then they both slept for real, a deadened, exhausted sleep. Sometimes Ankh awoke in the dark and for a heart-stopping moment thought it was starting all over again, until he felt Eiji still curled up tightly against him. 

Then they were usually safely on the upswing. Eiji’s smiles were tentative and weak but not forced. Within a few days, a week, they hit their regular rhythm, and Ankh could finally relax. Could bully Eiji for ice, could mock him in front of his friends, could be taciturn and arrogant and needy in turns or altogether. And Eiji could complain at him and about him, could bite back with responses Ankh would never admit were clever, could coddle him or bribe him or ignore him as he saw fit. 

And when people gave them incredulous looks, when people asked Eiji why he put up with someone like Ankh and Eiji just shrugged and smiled, Ankh stored up those moments. When people saw him as dead weight in Eiji’s life, he embraced it. He was the lodestone around Eiji’s neck, keeping him from flying off to whatever called him beyond. 


End file.
